


The Devil Went Down to California

by RebaK1tten



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Gen, I gave him a Mom, I think he needs a Mom, Joining the group writing about one of them as a demon, M/M, Oh so Peter sells his soul and so he dies at the end, Peter sells his soul, Preventing the Hale Fire, Stiles is a demon, Talia and Peter family feelings, but I think you'd figure that out, which is the major character death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-24
Updated: 2018-03-24
Packaged: 2019-04-07 07:48:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14076243
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RebaK1tten/pseuds/RebaK1tten
Summary: "I’ll give you forty-eight hours, you do whatever you need to to stop her and save the family. How’s that sound?”“And in exchange?” Peter asks. It’s mostly for form; he’ll agree to anything, quite literally anything.“Oh, Peter,” Stiles sighs, and shakes his head looking sad. “You have to know how this goes.”





	The Devil Went Down to California

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [The Devil Went Down to California](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16073327) by [elcholl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/elcholl/pseuds/elcholl)



Peter’s screaming, half on fire as he watches his home burn. He can hear his families’ screams, sees the flames coming from the roof and the basement windows. He recognizes his mother’s hands through the barred window and tries to run into the house once more, desperate to get past the line of mountain ash. He hears the roof crash in and his sister yelling orders, the alpha to the end. It’s January, just after the New Year and he hears the Christmas tree as it catches and sees the lights lining the porch explode.

He falls to his knees and shouts “No! Please, I’ll do anything, my god, anything, let me do something to save them!” and then the house freezes, the flames sit in place and everything’s suddenly, completely quiet.

From inside the house he sees a man walk out. He looks maybe college aged, although he’s dressed in a pinstriped black suit with a tie. He’s young and pale and grinning, the only thing moving in Peter’s frozen picture. “Hey, Peter. How are you? Oh, stupid question, huh?” he turns and looks at the house, “Man, that’s a mess.”

“Who… what are you?” Peter asks. He licks his lips tasting blood from where they’ve burnt from the hot air.

“Well, it’s like this. You kind of prayed, you know. And you kind of hit a busy time, so you ended up with me. But I’m pretty sure I can help.”

“Who are you?”

The man chuckles and says, “Oh yeah, didn’t really answer that, did I? Let’s see, you have a few names for me, you can call me Lucifer or Beelzebub or Iblis or [Mephistopheles](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mephistopheles). Or you can just call me Stiles. It’s probably the easiest. Certainly easier than my real name, no one can pronounce that.”

“Seriously? You’re Lucifer? The prince of darkness and all that?” Peter asks, unable to stop himself. Because this cannot be real. The house burning cannot be real and certainly a visit from Lucifer can’t be real.

“Oh, it’s real, baby,” Stiles says and he blinks, his eyes going black. He points a finger over his shoulder back to the house which starts on fire again, screams filling the air. “See, that’s real, too. So hey, no one likes that, but maybe we can talk and come up with something that works for both of us?” Blinking his eyes back to their normal warm brown, he points again and the fire freezes like it did before.

“Please,” Peter whispers, looking at the house again. He can see where one of the walls is falling down or will be as soon as the creature – Stiles – unfreezes the house. “Please, I’ll do anything, please Stiles, save them.”

Stiles smiles, cold and small and says, “We can make an arrangement then. So you want to keep your family alive and healthy, right? How about, we go back twenty-four – forty-eight hours and you can talk your sister into listening to you and warning her of what’s to come.” He turns and looks at the burning building. “This is because of your nephew, you know. Well, not really _because_ of him, but sort of. His girlfriend, and I use that term _very_ loosely. He’s what? Sixteen? And she’s twenty-four, which is kind of creepy, even for me and believe me, I know creepy. She comes from a family of hunters, the Argents, have you heard of them? I’ll give you forty-eight hours, you do whatever you need to to stop her and save the family. How’s that sound?”

“And in exchange?” Peter asks. It’s mostly for form; he’ll agree to anything, quite literally anything.

“Oh, Peter,” Stiles sighs, and shakes his head looking sad. “You have to know how this goes.”

“Details, please?”

Stiles shrugs and crosses his arms. “One year. Or actually a little less than one year. Next New Year’s Day, I’ll come back and pick you up. You die and your soul is mine for all eternity. Which, in case you didn’t know, is a long time.” Stiles looks over his shoulder at the frozen house, where the orange and yellow flames are still. “Do you agree, Peter Hale?”

He nods and then says, “Yes, I agree, Stiles. Save my family as you said and in a year you’ll have my soul.”

 

It’s not that difficult convincing Talia that something will happen. Tell her about Derek’s “girlfriend,” get them out of the house, he and Talia waiting in trees. The arsonists come, just when Peter knew they would. Kate’s in front, waving a can of gasoline, as though she’s coming to a party. As she starts to circle the house with mountain ash, they jump and kill her while the others with her run.

 

It’s morning, about a week after the fire that didn’t happen and Peter’s in his bed, unable to sleep. Not that he’s particularly worried about Stiles or his agreement in a year; he’s thinking of his family and his pack. It’s worth it, whatever happens, it’s worth it. They’re alive and healthy and he can hear them starting to stir. Talia and her mate, David, taking turns in their bathroom. Derek in his room, music quiet and tinny with his earbuds. His mother’s downstairs putting on a kettle for tea.

“Wakey, wakey, eggs and bakey!” Stiles is next to Peter, under the covers, leaning against the headboard. He’s wearing what looks like a faded AC/DC t-shirt and Peter looks under the covers to verify he’s wearing boxers. Obnoxiously plaid boxer

“Rude!” Stiles calls and looks under the covers. Peter sleeps nude and raises an eyebrow when Stiles grins at him. “Well, I guess saying ‘time to get up’ would be a little redundant?”

“Not that it’s not pleasant to see you, Stiles, but are you here for a reason? I slept well last night, but I know I didn’t sleep for a year.”

“Hey, can’t I just come and visit my bud? I think we’re buds now, don’t you?” He stretches and burrows back under the covers, turning so he’s facing Peter. “Do I smell coffee?”

“I don’t know, and maybe we need to define buds. Why are you here?”

“You’re touchy when you wake up.” He touches Peter’s nose and grins. “Goodbye morning breath! Now we can talk.”

“Lucky me,” Peter says, licking his lips. Yes, it’s definitely a little pepperminty. “What are we talking about?”

“So you know how a couple of the arsonists escaped? I can tell you where they are. If you’re interested, that is.”

Peter sits up, eyes flashing murderous blue, hearing a rumble in his chest. “Yes. Tell me.” He pauses and cocks his head. “I have nothing else to offer you. If you’re somehow thinking about taking my family…”

Stiles snorts and says, “No, dude, it’s a gift. Consider it a late Christmas present.”

“Christmas? Didn’t think that would be a big holiday for you,” Peter says, getting out of bed. He pulls on yesterday’s jeans and grabs a clean t-shirt from a drawer.

Stiles shrugs, standing next to him, impeccable in a dark gray suit. “Well, what can I say? I like the twinkly lights. Look, I gotta go, I have an appointment with some guy in DC. Info’s in your jeans pocket,” he says, and pats Peter’s ass. “If you need help or anything.”

Peter just nods, studying the list, already making plans. “Hmm, thanks for this. Enjoy your trip and happy hunting.”

“Yeah, you, too,” Stiles says and then he’s gone.

“Tell Talia or not…” he muses. He’ll have to tell her something, he’s going to be gone for a couple of weeks. Well, first there’s coffee and time with his pack. He’s in no rush, this is something to savor.

 

“How did you find them?” Talia asks, looking at the dossiers Peter’s prepared. Her eyes flash red, but she’s not angry with him. All he feels through their bond is her approval and a certain blood-thirsty joy that he sends back.

“I have ways,” he answers, and shrugs. Being mysterious is par for the course, he doesn’t feel a need to expand.

“Take David,” she orders. David’s her husband, a born wolf and good match for her, good second for their pack. Still it rankles.

He raises an eyebrow, flashing his blue eyes. He’s earned them after all, and this isn’t his first mission. “I’m pretty sure I can handle a few scared humans.”

“Of course you can,” she responds and grins, with her fangs hanging over her lower lip. “David’s along to get pictures. People do not fuck with the Hales.”

 

They’re gone for ten days, about the amount of time Peter expected. David’s good to travel with, he enjoys good meals, nice wines and it’s not difficult to encourage him to upgrade to a nicer hotel. He doesn’t get upset when Peter flirts with him or anyone else. Honestly, if Talia hadn’t have snapped him up… best not go there.

When they get back, their welcome home dinner is lamb on the barbeque. Peter’s older sister, Miriam, and her wife, Lorraine are in charge of cooking. Dinner is delicious and afterwards, when the children are all in bed, those who are interested take a look at their trip photos.

“My good boy,” his mother says, scenting his cheek and kissing his temple.

He’s never been ashamed to admit he’s a mama’s boy and he tilts his head so she can nip at his throat.

Talia smiles at him and the look she gives David could easily qualify as feral. Once again, Peter’s glad he doesn’t share a wall with them.

 

Stiles is back a month later, and this time he plops himself on Peter’s lap in the living room, straddling him, arms around his neck. “I know where Gerard is,” he whispers to Peter and tugs on Peter’s earlobe with his teeth.

Peter looks around him at his family sitting in the room with them. Watching television, on their phones or with books. Peaceful, normal weeknight with a demon on his lap.

“Umm, is this the right place?” Peter whispers back.

“They can’t see or hear me,” Stiles answers and wriggles in Peter’s lap in a very enticing way. He’s in a long sleeved t-shirt and sweat pants, matching Peter’s outfit right down to gray, wool socks and no underwear. Suddenly, Peter’s very aware of the lack of the underwear. “Just be quiet and no one will be the wiser.”

Peter nods slightly, checking that his family isn’t looking towards him. “Talk,” he whispers.

“So Gerard. Do you want him?”

“Yes,” he says and can’t keep the small growl from escaping.

“Peter, is everything okay?” Talia asks. She’s been extra aware of his opinions since he prevented the fire and it’s nice to know she’s willing to listen. He barely feels any guilt that in the original timeline he _didn’t_ detect the problem before the fire. After all, he’s given up his soul to make it right.

He holds up the book he’s been trying to read, a gory police procedural, the kind she hates. “Yes. Just … stupid character in my book,” he tells her, shaking his head and setting the book down next to him.

She looks at him for a long moment, cocking her head and visibly sniffing the air, not at all subtle, but very alpha of her.

“Oooh, you got momma upset?” Stiles grins and whispers in to Peter’s ear, making him shiver.

“Please don’t ever refer to my sister like that again.” He shuts his eyes for a second as Stiles tightens his thighs around Peter’s hips. Hopefully he won’t get a boner with this squirmy, devil boy on his lap. “Gerard?”

“He has a very predictable schedule. I can tell you what road he’ll be on and when. You in?”

Peter’s claws rip the cover of his book as he nods, whispering, “As soon as possible.”

 

As soon as possible turns out to be a little more than a week later. Peter has no time to waste, and wants to be sure the job is done before his year is up. This one, he doesn’t tell Talia about. He doesn’t expect to be gone more than a night or so and he is a full grown adult, after all, allowed to be away from the pack house without getting permission from his alpha.

Stiles tells him where Gerard lives, a little more than two hours north of them. He shows him Peter exact routes he takes, using Peter’s laptop and a program that seems part Google Map and part Demon Map. Either way, it’s effective and includes restaurant recommendations.

 

Peter plots carefully, spending a couple of days trailing Gerard, making sure he’s got his schedule down. He’s monitored him in both his wolf and human forms, and it’s almost shameful how casual Gerard is, how it seems he’s let down his guard.

However, Peter’s certainly not going to be casual. He picks a spot on Gerard’s drive home, shifted into his full wolf form. Gerard rounds a corner and swerves to avoid the tree branch (half a tree actually) Peter pulled into the road.

As he swerves, Peter jumps on the car, rips off the front window and pulls Gerard out of the car. It’s a good plan and Gerard’s throat is torn out before he even gets to yell.

He does, however, get off two shots, one that goes into Peter’s shoulder. It hurts like a fucker and Peter sits on the side of the road, shifting back into his human form, the better to figure out how bad it is.

Stiles approaches, dressed casually in khakis and a hoodie. He looks at the bullet wound, which is steaming and already there’s black veins around it.

“So, a little help here?” Peter asks, really hoping Stiles will, but unsure. Maybe he’ll be going a little earlier than expected. At least he can know the arsonists are dead.

The demon’s eyes go black and he holds Peter’s shoulder while his nails get longer and pointier and he pushes them into the bullet hole and pulls out the bullet pieces while Peter bites his lip to keep from screaming. “There, that wasn’t too bad, was it?”

“I’m guessing ‘too bad’ is a relative term for you?” Peter answers and lets himself hold onto Stiles’ arm until he feels steadier.

“Here, this’ll help,” Stiles says and rubs a human-looking finger around the bullet hole. “You have such a tight little hole,” he coos. He pushes his finger in and when he removes it, Peter’s skin heals as though nothing happened. “Better?”

Nodding, Peter says, “Yes, thank you. You’re surprisingly handy to have around. Good timing, too.”

Stiles cups his cheek and smiles. “You should get home, I’ll do the clean-up here.”

Peter nods and shifts, running for his car for the drive home, feeling Stiles eyes following him until he’s out of sight. Turning his back on the demon isn’t a problem, he realizes. He trusts him.

 

“So… in general, hunters: pro or con?”

Peter looks at Stiles, who appeared in the deck chair next to him. It doesn’t even startle him anymore. The demon appears now and then, sometimes offering something Peter wants, sometimes just hanging out for an hour, trading sarcastic comments before he vanishes.

This time, he’s in a speedo, towel under his long legs. The overall look is ruined by the stripe of zinc oxide on his nose. “I burn easily, okay?” he states, when Peter stares and smirks. “Answer the question.”

“In general, con. I’m not a fan of them. I’m told they serve a purpose for omegas that have gone feral and such things, but frankly, I think any local packs should take care of that sort of thing,” Peter answers, shutting his eyes and leaning back in his chair. He’s in much more modest swim trunks; not that he doesn’t appreciate what he can see due to Stiles’ outfit, but it’s not what he’d choose. His own body might be amazing, but no one should wear a speedo. “I assume you’re asking for a reason?”

Stiles tugs on the leg of his briefs, leaning back and shutting his eyes. “I may know of a couple of hunters who happen to be arsonists. I wouldn’t be upset if something were to happen to them.”

“They’ve attacked packs?” Peter asks, opening one eye.

“Um hmm,” Stiles answers, reclining his chair further and picking up what smells like a pina colada. “Interested in a road trip?”

 

It’s set up and it’s surprisingly easy. At least it’s easy enough with Stiles directing the action. He tells Peter where to go, who’ll be there and what he’ll need to do to ensure their side will win.

“Why are you doing this in particular?” Peter asks him, as they sit in a parking lot, eating tacos from a food truck. “Ridding the world of bad people doesn’t seem very…well I guess it doesn’t seem very satan-ish. I think you’d want to keep them in the world.”

“It’s an unfortunate part of life; there’s just too many here. I could wipe out a dozen killers a day and not make a noticeable dent,” he answers sighing. He reaches over and takes the last of Peter’s guacamole. “So I decided to target the ones who go after wolves.”

Peter liberates Stiles’ salsa verde, pouring it on his remaining taco and licking his fingers. “Good choice. Keep me in the loop, I’m always available to help.”

 

“Okay, I have a favor.” Stiles says and he does genuinely surprise Peter by showing up as he’s taking a shower.

“You couldn’t have waited for ten minutes?” Peter asks, stepping back to rinse his hair. “And I should, why exactly?”

Stiles looks at a bottle of body wash, sniffing it before he pours out a handful, rubbing it in his armpits. “You and I will be together a long, long time. Let’s be friends. Friends with benefits.”

“I’m not sure if you know what that means exactly,” Peter says, turning his back on the other not-quite-man. It’s a strange show of trust, but what does he truly have to lose? Going to hell a couple of months early?

“You could show me,” Stiles says, and Peter can tell he’s grinning.

Peter shuts off the water and grabs a couple of towels, one for himself and one for the dripping demon. “You could tell me what you want.”

 

“You’re familiar with Eichen House, right? Well, there’s a guard there, name of Brunski. He should be dead,” Stiles explains. They’re sharing a bottle of Old Vine Zinfandel, from a winery in Napa. It’s just five years old, but still very tasty.

“Any particular reason Brunski should be dead, or just because you want it,” Peter asks, shrugging and splitting the rest of the bottle between the two of them. “Not that one reason is better than the other. Mainly, I’m curious.”

“Eichen has a supernatural wing, I’m not sure you knew that,” Stiles answers, waiting until Peter’s raised eyebrow says he did not, in fact, know that. “Brunski works that wing sometimes. He drugs and uses tasers on both his human and supernatural charges.”

“And we care why?”

Stiles uses the towel to wipe himself down, choosing to wrap it around his head. “It’s not like Eichen House isn’t needed; there are some creatures who are dangerous to everyone and regular prisons can’t contain them. Wendigos? Vampires? You can’t really put them in the county clink. But seriously, Peter, there has to be limits and rules. He’s just a bad person and if anyone’s going to torture people, it should be me, right?”

“Vampires? I thought they were just fairy tales.” Peter pulls on a pair of jeans and a henley, then turns and sees Stiles is already dressed in something similar. He’s cute barefoot.

“Up until a few months ago, you didn’t believe in the devil, did you?” he asks, handing his wet towel to Peter.

 

The plan is to meet up outside Brunski’s house, on an evening after he gets off work. They wait, Peter shifted into his wolf form, hidden in the back yard shrubberies until they hear Brunski upstairs in the shower.

Stiles sits carefully on a broken bench, that’s been shoved into a corner of the back porch. He smiles as he waits for Peter to finish, listening to the growls and screams coming from upstairs.

After a few minutes, Peter comes out the back door and shakes himself off before he shifts. “That’s done,” he says, and pushes wet hair off his face as he grins. “Was there anything inside you need? We should probably get out of here before someone calls the police. He didn’t go quietly.”

“Nah, I’m ready to go if you are,” Stiles answers, pushing himself up and wiping his hands on his thighs. “You want to shift back or just walk like that?”

“You can’t just zap me some clothes?” Peter’s never been sure of just what Stiles can and can’t do. Or actually, it’s more like will or won’t do. “And since I’m asking, why haven’t you taken care of Brunski yourself if he offends you so much?”

“Curious thing aren’t you?” Stiles raises an eyebrow and heads down the porch steps. “I make arrangements and have others do it. It wouldn’t be…appropriate for me to do the hands-on work. Besides, I like watching you shift. Let’s get out of here and when you’re dressed, we can go to In-n-Out. My treat.”

 

There’s a couple of months when Peter doesn’t see Stiles and if he’s honest, he has to admit he misses the boy. Demon-boy. Yes, he’s a demon or Lucifer or whatever he is. But he’s attractive and has a wicked sense of humor, to say the least. He knows movies and literature and, while he has his own view on things, it’s interesting discussing history with him. Especially since he’s seen things first hand.

 

Stiles comes back just before Thanksgiving with another request for Peter.

“Deucalion? We’ve been allies with his pack for years. This won’t go over well,” Peter tells him, using his napkin to wipe his mouth. They’re a few towns over, eating rare steaks and drinking an expensive Cabernet while they talk business. Or possibly business and pleasure.

The knife goes through the steak like it’s butter, and Stiles doesn’t talk until he’s finished his bite. Peter hates it when he talks with his mouth full and after several reminders, the demon seems to be trained. “Well, maybe you were allies, but I’m afraid he’s gone bonkers and now he’s killed his pack and he’s collecting alpha wolves for a new, crazy pack. He’s planning to come for Talia and she’ll either have to kill her pack, which would include you, or he’ll kill her. I kinda thought since you’d given up your soul to save them, you might not want him to kill them just yet.”

Peter snorts quietly. “And how am I supposed to kill an alpha wolf and not have Talia notice?”

“Honestly, you don’t need to hide it long ‘cause it’s almost time. And you know I’ll help with Deuc -- when have I let you flounder?” Stiles flutters his lashes over his black eyes.

 

It’s not long before they’re outside Deucalion’s penthouse apartment. Peter stands against the wall, away from the door while Stiles rings the doorbell.

When Deucalion answers, Stiles blows some wolfsbane powder in his face and Peter can’t help but laugh at his expression before he falls on the floor.

“After you,” Stiles says, gesturing in front of him.

“Thank you,” Peter says, grabbing Deucalion’s ankle and dragging him inside.” He squints and covers his mouth, mumbling as they enter and shuts the door behind them.

 

A few hours later they leave, getting back into Stiles’ rental car. “Well? What do you think?” the demon questions.

Peter grins and leans his head back, with a contented sigh. “I think I should buy you dinner,” he answers, flashing his red eyes.

“Such a show-off,” Stiles says, and blinks, then shows his black eyes. “And don’t expect me to be a cheap date.”

“I’d never,” Peter answers, truthfully. He chuckles and shakes his head, realizing he’s become very fond of this demon. Which is ridiculous.

 

Christmas is a time for nostalgia and this year it hits Peter harder than ever. Of course it has, it’s been an amazing year and now he’s celebrating his last Christmas with his family, his pack.

“This is because of you,” Talia says, sliding up next to him, resting her head on his shoulder.

She’s the older sister and his alpha, but damn, he loves that she’s a good four inches shorter. “I take it that’s a good thing for once?” but he’s joking and they both know it. There’s nothing in her scent short of love and trust and gratitude. He’s the left hand and no one has done it better.

“Thank you,” she says quietly, pulling back and looking at him, eyes locking with his. “Thank you for finding out what was happening. For giving us Christmas and our pack. For helping Derek.”

“Just doing my job, Tali,” he answers, kissing her head.

“I’m trying to express my thanks, you ass hole, take it. You know I’m terrible at it,” she says, grinning. “Anyway, Merry Christmas, brother mine.”

“Merry Christmas, Alpha,” he says, trying to keep the grin off his face. “You should check in the kitchen, I think Laura’s burning the gravy.”

Talia’s teeth flash for a second as she rolls her eyes, heading towards the smell of burnt something. “That girl…”

He looks at Cora and Derek talking with his other, human sister as she adjusts the twinkling lights, which generally means adding more. Watching, he can see how Derek’s finally acting like himself again, like a pack member. They’ll need to keep an eye on him as the new year starts, in case he gets an anniversary case of guilt. Well, someone will need to keep an eye on him.

His mother comes over, shaking her head and looking towards the kitchen. “That girl had better hope she marries someone who can cook.”

“Or someone who wants to eat out a lot,” he agrees. Laura is in training to be the next alpha and that apparently takes a lot of her time. Her free time is certainly not spent with cooking lessons.

His mother chuckles and reaches up to cup the back of his neck, rubbing his hair and scenting him like she used to do when he was a child. Although back then, she’d reach down to do it. “Can I ask you to make another batch of eggnog? You do it best, as good as your father used to do.”

“Of course, Mom. I think it’s time for some extra rum, don’t you?” he says, turning towards the kitchen. As he does so, he sees Stiles standing in a corner. The adults don’t see him at all, passing him as though he’s not there. Peter sees one of his nieces staring until Stiles shoos her away. Stiles grins shows his black eyes, smiling at everyone in the room, even though they don’t pay any attention. Peter grins back, not upset the demon is here at the pack’s Christmas party. After all, the only reason there’s a pack is because of Stiles.

He’s wearing a black three piece suit with a red shirt, which is so over the top and cliché demon. Then he hears a voice in his ear saying, “Cliché? Rude.”

Peter looks back and Stiles is gone. A couple of minutes later, he gives his mother the eggnog and sits by the fireplace watching his family. Most years, Christmas can be overwhelming, too many family members and forced glad tidings. This year, he doesn’t even have to force himself to enjoy it.

 

New Year’s Eve comes and everyone is at the house getting tipsy, including Peter. After all, he won’t have to worry about a hangover tomorrow.

“You! Happy New Year, Peter,” Talia swoops in grabbing him in a hug, squeezing almost too hard. Alpha strength, but now he has that, too. Oh well. “Do you have a drink? Oh, you do, good!”

He tries not to chuckle, because alpha or not, she’s always been a lightweight with drinks. At least she’s usually a happy drunk like she is now. “I’m good, very good, thanks.”

“Good, that’s good. You know, Peter, it’s sweeter this year after what could have happened. And that’s because of you, so thank you, again.”

“Nothing did happen and that’s because you’re a good alpha. But thank you for your kind comments.” He holds up his glass for a toast and accepts her hug for a quick scenting.

Talia looks around the room, seeing family and friends getting louder as the night wears on. “Do you have a plan for your midnight kiss?”

He shrugs and looks around as well. “I’m not sure. Actually, I just might.”

 

Midnight comes and before the singing stops Peter finds himself in a white room. Looking around, he sees the nematon in the center, the trunk that he’s seen for years.

He looks down and sees he’s now in a white suit, with a matching white shirt and tie. But so is Stiles , who’s sitting on the stump.

“You know, this guy right here,” he says, patting the stump, “he’s the reason this town is the way it is. Pulls in all the crazy. Damn, I like it here.”

Peter sits on the side of the stump, feeling strangely relaxed. Even though the next stop probably won’t be so nice. “So is it time? Or is this just a little bit of extra drama?”

“Yeah, January 1, just like we planned.”

“Totally worth it.” Peter says, straightening his tie. It’s a bit wider than he likes and the material is a little too shiny for his taste; he’d have gone with something matte. But all in all, it’s not a bad outfit to wear to go to eternal damnation.

Stiles turns to him, and draws a finger down Peter’s tie, changing it to what the wolf was thinking of. “I have a proposal for you, if you want to listen. Just an idea.”

“The last time worked well,” Peter answers, tugging on a shirt cuff. “French cuffs, very nice. Your proposal?”

“We can keep the agreement as we had it originally. You come with me to Hell or whatever – Hell is an earth term, but it’s good enough, I suppose – and you can live, sort of, for the rest of eternity with a pack of dogs eating you alive or maybe it’ll be vultures pulling out your intestines day after day, depending on what’s available.” Stiles glances over at Peter, who keeps a completely straight face with this bit of information.

“Or, you can work for me. With me, if you like. You’d be doing the stuff you’ve been doing this year and you won’t _really_ be in Hell and there won’t be daily torture. You’ll be my part-time hitman, so to speak.”

He’s nervous, Peter realizes. For some reason Stiles, the demon who holds a contract on his soul, is nervous about his, a simple mortal’s decision. Lovely. “So what’s the catch here, Stiles? I doubt very much you’re just feeling generous.”

Stiles laughs and says, “Obviously, you’ll need to stay with me. For all eternity, which you might know is a very long time. Oh and you’ll have to die of course.”

“I assume I’d die either way. I kind of assumed I ‘had a heart attack’ or something on the top side and that’s why I’m here,” Peter asks, eyebrow raised.

“No, I’ll send you back in a bit. For now, it’s one of those frozen things – like the fire, the fire the first time around.” He tugs at his shirt collar, messing the lines of his tie and Peter longs to straighten it back up. “So, dying, what do you think?”

The wolf nods and says, “Okay, as I said, I figured death was inevitable. Does it need to hurt?”

“I have three ideas for you. First option – you’re taking a bath and shaving with an electric razor and…”

“I’d prefer not to be thought of as stupid after death. What else?”

Stiles nods, and continues counting off on his fingers. “You accidentally poison yourself with too much wolfsbane in your alcohol.”

Peter shudders and shakes his head. “That _is_ painful and involves a lot of throwing up. I’d prefer something a little less graphic.”

“Wow, you’re picky,” Stiles snorts. “And I was going to allow you not to shit yourself, but… Okay, the third one is more graphic. How about auto-erotic asphyxiation?”

Peter raises an eyebrow and says, “Still graphic, but it would be legendary. A werewolf could probably do that.” He thinks for another minute and says, “However, I really don’t think that would be good to do to my mother. If it were just my sister…”

“I can arrange that!” Stiles says, looking quite gleeful.

“Thanks, but you’ll remember all of this was to _keep_ the family alive.” He sighs and says, “I don’t suppose there’s a way to do the wolfsbane poisoning that’s less painful?”

“Gods, you’re like the pickiest.” Stiles scratches the back of his neck and sighs loudly. “Yeah, I’m sure I can work something out. I’ve got a soul or two I can shove into your body when the real pain starts and then they get the pain and I yank you out.”

“Thank you, I’d appreciate that,” Peter says, sincerely, because that really is accommodating.

Stiles crosses his arms and asks, “And my offer?”

“To be your hunting partner for eternity?” He grins and pats Stiles’ knee, quickly moving his hand away. “I can’t think of anything better.”

 

Attendance is good at Peter’s funeral, with family, of course, and also people in the town. The Hales are popular; they’re friendly and rich enough that they donate a lot of money to the city. There’s a Hale wing in the hospital, not that there’s been a lot of actual Hales there.

There’s no coffin; he never wanted to be buried and left to rot. So there’s a small urn at the front of the room and a local reverend says a few prayers, mostly for the non-family mourners.

Back in the preserve, the more wolf-appropriate send-off is in a small clearing. They gather around, while their emissary and Talia lead the pack in saying good-bye to their family member, their pack-mate, their left hand, the pack’s protector.

“You ready?” Stiles asks, as they stand at the back of the crowd, watching the urn with Peter’s ashes lowered into the ground. His tombstone is still being prepared and once completed, Talia will be there as it’s placed at the head of his plot.

“I suppose. It was a good turnout, don’t you think?” Peter answers, looking at the crowd, some crying and most at least are sniffing, tissues crunched in their hands.

“I think so. I’ve seen fewer at funerals. Of course, yours is limited by –“ he leans over and whispers, “the big secret.”

After another minute, Peter and Stiles turn to leave. The pack will be there a bit longer, but there’s really nothing to stay for. “Lots of big secrets, aren’t there?” Peter muses. Death makes you thoughtful.

“Eh, I guess. So should I say this is the start of a beautiful friendship?”

He looks down where Stiles is holding his arm. It’s kind of nice. “That would be unbelievably cheesy. And I get the distinct vibe you’re thinking of more than friendship. You are, aren’t you?”

Stiles grins, showing his sharp little teeth and flashing his dead, black eyes. “That’s why I like you Peter. You’re pretty and you’re pretty smart.”

“Sweet talking devil, you.”

“Cheesy,” Stiles answers as they start the next part of their relationship.

 


End file.
